Creative Writing: The Haunted House

When I almost reached the door, I felt something at my foot, a broken hourglass, that had ran out of sand. Shaking and suddenly bursting into a cold sweat, I furiously jammed the key in. It felt like an eternity, but finally I succeeded. Pushing the door open, and wiping a faceful of sweat from my face, I felt this wave of aromas crash over me. Putting the key in my pocket(FORESHADOWING) and then entering the cellar I tried to calm down. I tried to look for the cask of Amontillado that I bought several weeks ago. There were millions of wines in that cellar (HYPERBOLE). But at last I found it. It felt, lighter, and after opening it I realised that it was empty. I wasn’t enraged, just tired. I made my way to the door, suddenly feeling drowsy. Then I became a little bit nauseous and shaky. Looking into the darkness, I saw, darkness. So I picked up my dying torch and put it up and almost yelled “Who’s there?”. There was no reply but a figure seemed to appear in the darkness. It was carrying a scythe and it started towards me. I fell back, and was caught by the wall, slamming my head against it and dropping my torch. The figure whispered in the dark, “Free the fortunate one, for be warned fate will find

“Some people say I was lucky to survive, other will say I deserved it for the choice I made. I’m here to say I was lucky, it’s never ok to say your life isn’t worth living even at your worst you can always look forward tomorrow will come and if you put your mind to it you’ll see that anything is possible.” – Stephen McGregor Professional Paralympian

"Wake up, partners," the trail boss, James called. I sleepily looked up , shivered, and saw I was the only one not up. "Here," James said, giving me the horses' bridles and saddles. "Take these and get the horses ready. We have a long day today." I groaned in reply and set up the horses for the day's long drag. I was the horse wrangler and this was my everyday job but I still couldn't get use to the idea of waking up before the sun and working. We drove the cattle into open plains against the winter's cold wrath.

Back in the main level of the factory, Wolf and Fox find Hawk lying on the ground, pale and unresponsive, his bulletproof vest next to him and the edges of a red stain showing around a wad of gauze. A soldier that Fox assumes is N-Unit's medic kneels next to him, along with Snake and Coyote. The three medics are talking frantically among themselves. The rest of N-Unit hovers nervously nearby; the rest of H-Unit is nowhere to be seen. Dust particles dance through the beams of sunlight from the holes where windows used to be, giving the whole scene a strangely dreamy air.

I have no human bed to sleep in, everybody else closes their doors, so I am left to sleep on a pile of clothes. I was so upset with her when she brought home another creature. You see I am a indoor cat, so I never go outside, like never. When the open the door to the outside door I just stare at it until someone closes it. So I have never seen another creature other than a human. So when I saw she had a box and inside contained a small white creature with red eyes, creepy, I got super scared and curious. I smelled it and I touched it! When I did I ran away. I heard her say, “ I saved him from being killed, they were going to euthanize him if I did not get him. Look at him he is the cutest rat ever!” I have no idea what euthanize is but I think the he can save himself. He is a rat, rhymes with cat, so that means he is must be related to cats. I still don’t like him,and sometimes I get the urge to just paw at him, but Cindy always gives me a look when I go near him, so she put him in one of the little human’s

The creature he had been tracking all along. It was in the middle of the meadow and he was no more than 400 yards away. It was just smaller than the trees in the forest and was making an arrangement of sounds. It was the color of ash and it’’s eyes glowed that shone like beacons in the night. It stood on all four legs and had claws that could slice through rock. By the looks of it, it’’s skin was as thick as concrete. It was feeding on a fresh kill, making all sorts of repulsive noises as it did. The man pulled something from his bag, it was silver and sharp. It was a sword. This sword was no ordinary sword, it was a sword that had been given to him by his father which had been passed down throughout his family tree. It radiated with energy as he held it in his hands. He felt a new surge of energy pass through him. Just then the noises of the feast ceased and the beast sniffed the air alerted by the smell of the man. The man’s heart was beating and he could feel the beast’’s eyes staring directly at him. That’s when the monstrosity released a terrifying screech. It sounded like metal scraping against metal, it tested the man’s very soul and willpower. The screech did not deter the man for when he held the sword he was in tune with every part of his

As the story goes along the reader can see how the narrator’s alcoholic behavior increases dramatically. The alcoholism plays such a large role in the development of the narrator and even the development of the story that the narrator even goes so far as to call “It” a disease. As the story progresses the narrator slowly gets angrier and more violent. Leading to him going into a drunken rage causing him to gouge out the eye of his beloved cat Pluto because he would not show him any affection. Then the story goes on through a series of events involving him hanging his cat, because he was so upset at the fact that he caused his cat so much pain and that the cat would not want to be around him. After a while he and his wife find a new home and after some time of living there he notices another black cat next to a huge barrel of alcohol. Now the barrel is very significant part of the story even though that section of the story is only briefly mentioned. The black cat next to the barrel of alcohol could defiantly signify that his alcoholism is going to kill him or lead to his demise in some way. In the end of the story he ends up hating the new cat because his wife loved it tremendously. The cat constantly kept rubbing on his legs while he was walking, making him believe the cat was trying to kill him. He ended up getting tired of his cat’s actions so he attempted to kill the cat, followed up with him killing his wife, which lead to his execution.

It began when the clock struck the 12th hour and September 30th just began. I “accidentally” took a train to Baltimore, but I planned to meet up with one of my friends, who happens to look very similar to me. I had been planning to kill him for a long time. My stories were simply written plans in the form of horror stories. My pet raven has been haunting this man for many years, ever since I killed his wife. The name of this man, I shall not tell, for it may increase my chances of getting caught by a slim margin.

This cat is probably out to steal prey from my territory. It looks like I am going to have to deal with the intruder by myself, apprentice though I am. The thought fills me with nervous excitement. I begin padding quickly after it, gaining speed until I am sprinting toward it. The cat turns, eyes wide, reflecting the moon. It turns tail at the sight of me and bolts, its fear scent trailing behind it. I give chase, yowling a battle cry. The cat is a she-cat and has significantly shorter legs than I do. I quickly overtake her. I leap, landing on her back, and dig my claws in. Her pelt is hard to grip, her pale fur plastered with the mud she used to hide her rival-Clan scent with. She is not as strong as I am, I realize, as she crumples under my weight; still, she possesses significant strength and muscle beneath her pelt. The cat screeches in alarm, twists onto her back and tries to claw at my belly with her hind claws. Her eyes blaze with fury and terror, and suddenly I recognize this little cat.

I was chasing this beast for hours. I was chasing it away from town. Only because it had been eating all of our bread. We never seen such a beast. It was only as tall as our knees. For being so small it was very vicious. It had a mighty beak and feathers like a bird, yet it had webbed feet like a toad or a frog. It could swim in the water but it could also walk on land. It’s head was green, It had wings with a mixture of brown and white like caramel mixed with white chocolate, It’s feet were orange and it’s body was brown. I had finally lost track of this beautiful creature. I decided to name it duck. I named it duck because the word duce or diver which means to bend down low or to get under something. The duck eats by dipping its head underwater to get fish. I go to the pound every day to see the duck sitting there like a dead fish floating at the top of the water. I felt like it was a secret spy animal sent to watch the humans and to make sure the humans don’t mess

There was no noises except for one that was unlike the howling of the wind. In a flash I opened my eyes and searched around for any signs of animals. There was nothing, but the sound continued to get louder and more vicious. So I continued to search, then to my right about 45 feet away I spotted a large animal. Bigger than anyone i’ve seen before, with fangs the stretched passed it’s gums. Alone stalking its prey, but in this case it was me. The piercing eyes glared into me, as it stepped towards me in a slow stalk. In an instant it picked up see and barreled towards me with unstoppable

I bolted across the hall to the kitchen and got inside one of the corners and covered my self up with an old, dirty, but convenient board hoping he wouldn't see me. I heard foot steps, very soft foot steps. The thing said in his voice, "Where did you go? I'm not gonna hurt you. I just want to play." I held my breath and didn't say a word. "I know your in here." he said, "I'm gonna get you!" At that point I passed out.

John felt alone. He had felt alone for the last three years. Lestrade had attempted to keep their friendship as it had been. They had gone to pubs and drank a few pints for the first months. Then it became obvious that John wasn't actually trying to heal. Lestrade stopped trying to force him, and now he only checked up every other week. Mrs. Hudson hadn't quite given up on John, but she understood that he needed space. John had broken Anderson's nose when he tried to say something about Sherlock in front of him. Surprisingly, Sally Donavan had let him and spit in Anderson's face afterwards. Mycroft visited once to say he was 'so terribly sorry'. John had shot the politician in the shoulder, but Mycroft had refused to press charges and made

I have always felt as if I was running: running from love and happiness, running from pain and misery, and running from distractions and obstacles. Now I see there are some things that I can’t run away from; there is a beast inside of me, an untamable beast, taking residence in my heart and mind. I don't know where this demon originated, but with time, he has gradually taken over my life. I have no friends, I have no family, and I have no reason to exist, but the demon who visits me more often than not, doesn’t want to die; I guess neither do I.

I was the general of the city, a position given to me for being the only one to ever even mark the beast. I had seen it once since that first encounter. It looked at me, and pointed at the indent in its head where the bullet hit. It had given me a look. A look that I knew meant that this was the last time it would spare me. Its respect for or fear of me had run out. I knew from that moment that the next time I saw it, one of us would end up dead. The odds were against me, so I began to fear myself. I had heard of this city, whose name was lost, though it didn't matter. The people had simply begun to call it Haven. I moved here, and through hard work, I became a soldier. I trained most of my time, having not much else to do. I had no family, no wife or kids. The only thing I had to care for was a dog